


The Skies I'm Under

by nematode



Category: No. 6 - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Reunion Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 17:02:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1021185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nematode/pseuds/nematode
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their story can't end with just reunion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Skies I'm Under

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be split into one or two parts, but I've decided to at least post the beginning now. This is kind of a mix of novel- and anime-verse. I'm following the novel's ending, but some of the small details I took from the anime instead.
> 
> There's some strong mentions of mental illness in here.

“Today is the day the sun sets on No. 6.”

Shion saw only a few thousand eyes on him, less than expected but still enough to shake his knees. Knowing that there were at least millions more watching from around the world stunned him harder than the sun’s glare in the cameras he faced.

“We begin a new chapter today. Looking forward, all we have is blank pages. We don’t know what is waiting for us. We can’t know what will happen years from now, in a month, or even tomorrow. Heck, I have an assistant who schedules out my whole day and I still don’t know what I’m doing in an hour.”

There was a muffled rumble from the crowd. Shion wasn’t sure it could even be called a polite chuckle.

“But we can’t look at these blank slates with fear. Instead, see them with hope. We have the power to write our own future. We aren’t closing the book on No. 6; that book will always be open and is a valuable resource to us. We have to be willing to look back on No. 6 and ask the questions that I’ve been asking myself every day. Where did they – no, we – go wrong? What can we still use and what must we sacrifice? This journey for all of us has been about sacrifice: whether it’s our wealth, lifestyle, even our ways of thinking.”

Shion saw children on their parents' shoulders, men and women whispering amongst themselves, and dozens if not hundreds of wristbands held above the sea of heads, recording fuzzy snippets of video that would later be shown to huddled groups as proof that the owner was indeed there. The sun spilled down on all of them.

“Everyone has given things up and everyone has lost things. But look at where we’ve found ourselves. What were once blank pages are now filled with change and progress. We have stable water and communication lines to the West Block. We have trade open with No. 4, giving us a whole new range of resources and income. Travel is no longer restricted between districts. We even have an art museum opening in two weeks!”

Shion closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, his breath and the distant hum of a bee the only sounds he could hear. To that hum he asked a question: _Are you proud of me?_

He tried to imagine a presence next to him, a weight to keep him grounded to that spot, but all he accomplished was a keener awareness of just how alone he was behind that podium.

“See, our future is so bright, but we can’t just wait for it here. Trust me, I know the process can be painfully slow at times, or maybe it feels uncomfortably rushed. But with everyone’s help, we can become what No. 6 was truly supposed to be. On behalf of the Reconstruction Committee, thank you for all of your help already and thank you for your continued support. And from me, personally, as well: everyone, thank you so much for all that you’ve done.”

“Therefore, in an effort to symbolize a new chapter in our lives, we have officially moved on from the title of ‘No. 6’. This new name was chosen to show the happiness we strive for, even in the wake of death, and to honor the one who made this all possible.”

“And so, today the sun sets on No. 6, and rises on Elysium.”

* * *

 

When it had been announced that the Redenomination Decree would be broadcast across Numbers 3 through 6, of course every member of the Reconstruction committee had wanted the honor of announcing the city’s new title.

Shion, though, was tired of “Re” ‘s. Reconstruction. Redesignation. Relocation. Redeliniation. Everything was a revision. Nothing could be done without it being in terms of No. 6. He hadn’t been lying about using the past’s mistakes as a guideline, but for once, Shion wanted to be able to take action without the shadow of No. 6 hanging over his shoulder, whispering that each step he took was either an impossible leap or a step backwards into the darkness. More than anyone, Shion was happy with the progress they’d achieved, but he also felt the crushing weight of the city on him every second he stood still. And now, the world was watching him strain to keep his home afloat.

Shion never wanted to give the Decree. Of course, by the cruel laws of the universe, he was therefore chosen near unanimously for it. Once the other members of the committee had realized it was impossible for all of them to give this internationally broadcast speech, they’d inevitably turned to Shion.

They said he represented hope. Youth. Vitality. Intrigue (“It’s just the hair, isn’t it?” Shion had asked. No one had denied it). Shion wasn’t sure about any of that as he was escorted off the stage in the city’s plaza and past a crowd filled with cameras and voices. Someone started to chant “El--y—si--um”, which spread through the buzzing swarm like a drop of blood uncoiling in water. Shion shivered.

“Wonderful speech, sir.” The escort to the left of Shion said as he ushered him through the roped off walkway. “The car is prepared 50 meters from here. You’ll be safely returned to your residence in Lost Town within 40 minutes.”

“Thanks, Takeshi.”

Shion knew that he was technically the most recognizable face in the entire city, but he’d still fought to keep the escorting down to a minimum. It was unnecessary, he’d always insist to his assistant, who would then show him the latest magazine shot of him tripping up stairs with a book in his hand. Which, she said dryly, could be prevented if he had someone there to ward off photographers. Or to warn him about the stairs. Shion insisted that the reporters should be able to publish whatever they want, even if it was photos of him being a clutz, and that he was more comfortable with that than with having lumbering men peering over him constantly.

“Sir! No. 6 Daily here! What is your response to the rumors that you’ll be phasing out the Elite Student System?”

Shion sometimes questioned that decision. He turned to find a microphone shoved unnervingly close to his face, held by a man whose breath Shion reluctantly learned smelled of citrus. Scratching his head sheepishly, he stuttered, “Ah, well, that’s--“

His voice was overpowered by a grunt, followed by disgruntled protests and someone screaming, “Hey! BS head!”

With a not-so-subtle eyeroll, Shion turned towards the man who had pushed his way to the front of the group of reporters. His rugged t-shirt and dirt-stained jeans set him apart from the rest of the crowd. Under his eyes were heavy bags, ones Shion often saw in his own mirror after the nights where the nightmares wouldn’t stop.

BS head. Shion had been able to figure out the obvious insulting connotations, but Rikiga had needed to explain the other meaning behind No. 6’s favorite derogatory nickname for him. Bird shit head. As in, his hair was the color of bird excrement. Shion, hearing this, had never been so disappointed in the city. He immediately had set about trying to implement creative writing into the school’s curriculum.

“Come along, sir,” one of Shion’s escorts said in a monotone as he ushered Shion past the scene. The yelling man had thrown one of the reporters to the ground with his elbow, not even looking down as she fell. Shion’s eyes widened, but before he could take a step to help her up, security had come from what seemed like nowhere and restrained the man, effectively blocking both him and the reporter from the eyes of the entire crowd.

“Don’t you fucking ignore me! You shithead! Ruin my life and you can’t even look me in the eye!”

“What?” Shion felt a chill curl its way down his spine. “What is he talking about?” Shion couldn’t catch a glimpse of the man through the wall of security.

He heard struggling, muffled cursing, and then, nothing. A thick lump formed in his throat.

“Come along, sir.” Firm hands on his back and shoulders pushed Shion along, forcing his legs to move lest they fall behind the rest of his body. Before he knew it, he was in the car, the crowd reduced to nothing more than colors and blurred outlines and questions he didn’t know how to answer.

Shion sat in the backseat and couldn’t help but feel he was fleeing the scene instead of leaving a ceremony. In his head Shion was aware he was the one moving, but as he stared out of tinted windows, Shion felt as if the city instead was speeding past him and he was the one sitting very, very still.

* * *

 

“Shion!” Karan finished ringing up a customer and then came to the door to give Shion a tight hug. “I’m so glad you’re home.” Shion couldn’t help but smile and squeeze her back. “I went over to Linnea’s house to watch it. You did great.”

“Thanks, mom,” Shion said as he pulled away. “I really hope everybody is okay with the new name.”

“Oh, Shion, don’t worry. I think it’s perfect. I remember when you first came up with it you practically fell over yourself running down the stairs, and then you shoved that huge book in my face, blabbering about how you’d finally found it. It was adorable.”

“Mom, shut up.”

Karan laughed. “You know I’m joking. It really is a great name. I just couldn’t remember the last time you were so excited about anything.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t really expect it to catch on that fast. We’re going to start using it in official documents and change most of our signs, but we can’t really go out of our way to get rid of every instance of No. 6, you know? Like,” Shion pulled his wristband out from his pocket and flipped it over, looking at the inscribed ‘NO. 6 PERSONAL DIGITAL ASSISTANT’ and showed it to Karan, “we’re not going to recall these or anything. Or force people to call it Elysium. But,” Shion paused, and when he continued his voice was softer. “But I think it was the right thing to do. I don’t really know, but that’s my gut feeling.”

“Shion.” Karan placed a hand on his shoulder. “Of course it was. You don’t need to question yourself so much. I know, everyone knows, that you’re doing everything you can. Elysium,” Karan looked into Shion’s eyes and offered a smile, “is going to flourish under you.”

“Thanks.”

Karan placed a kiss on his forehead. “Go to bed. You don’t have anything else scheduled for today, do you?”

“No, mom.”

“Okay. Then go upstairs and get some sleep. You deserve it.”

“But mom, there’s still a lot to do for the committee by the end of the week. Maricel says she’s almost opened communication lines with No. 2. She needs my help.”

“No, Shion. _You_ need _sleep_. I’ll wake you up for dinner. Lili and Renka are coming over. They’re going to want to see you.”

Shion sighed and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. “Okay, okay. Let me know if you need any help, though.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Or if Rikiga or Inukashi stop by.”

“Yes, Shion.”

“Or you need groceries.”

“Shion! I have it under control. Go!”

He huffed and begrudgingly made his way upstairs and into his room, where he stripped to his briefs and crawled into bed, facing the window. On the chipped white sill was a brown stain from a long ago spilled soda. Over Shion’s head was a sliver of a crack in the bedpost from when he’d woken from a nightmare and hit his head, and his mother had carried him into her room and soothed him back to sleep. Where the light from the window settled on the carpet was a collection of frayed holes that Tsukiyo had created with his insistent nibbling. True to their creator’s namesake, the illuminated holes in the dark rug looked like stars in a moonlit sky.

Karan, even when Shion had tentatively presented her with the opportunity to move somewhere bigger, nicer, with more business, had maintained that this was their home. Had they not been forced here, Shion’s mother never would have started her bakery. Their happiness and their sadness were born here, she’d whispered to him when he’d proposed the idea of moving. This was their bubble. The world had thrown everything it could conjure up at them here, and they’d bounced it back.

Karan hated change. Shion was working day and night to change the world. If he could give her this place as the one stable thing in her universe, Shion couldn’t care less where they lived.

* * *

 

“Looking at these numbers, 79% of the population of the Western Block currently have adequate shelter, and the crude death rate has dropped from 22.3 to 14.6. IMR is dropping rapidly, and even the literacy rate has increased by a few percentage points with the introduction of the Western Academy. The improvement in life quality is irrefutable.”

“Agreed. No. 6 has – “

“Elysium.”

“Yes, alright. Elysium has done more than enough to fund the West Block. The majority of people there are unemployed, and yet they get free access to water, food, and even electricity. To send even more of our loyal, hardworking citizens’ money into that place is a betrayal to the men and women of our workforce.”

“Absolutely. Can you even imagine the backlash we would have to face? After the hit our reputations took from the whole open transportation debacle, we need all the approval we can get.”

“If you look at it this way, isn’t the West Block almost like a para – “

“Stop!” Shion choked out the word, teeth sore from gnashing. “Don’t you dare make that comparison. The people there have gone through so, so much, and if you think that they deserve anything less than the same as the inner city citizens, then, that’s just -- ”

Shion wished he could detach his head and let all of his contained memories spill out onto the table. He imagined his memories tainting the committee’s coffees, smudging these papers filled with meaningless numbers, and staining their hands until everything they touched was painted red and dripping with the fear and horrors held in his head.

Shion wished he could stop thinking that way.

“Listen, just. Listen. If 79% have shelter, that’s still 21% without. Compared to the 100% in the inner city, 79% is good, it’s better, but it’s not enough. And Western Academy is only for the kids who can afford to spend their time in school all day. What about the children who need to spend the day fighting for food? The money we’ve spent on the school is going to go to waste if you don't approve the plan to provide lunches to encourage enrollment. Can’t you see how meaningless your numbers are?”

Mallon, head of the Information and Technology subcommittee and representative of the Elite neighborhood of Chronos, narrowed his eyes. “And what, as a governmental agency, would you rather us use to track the conditions of, say, everything in this city?” Mallon always had this way of talking like a bug had just flown into his mouth.

“No, I’m not saying we stop using statistics, I’m not that much of an airhead.” Shion suspected Mallon had never heard the word ‘context’. It would explain a lot. “The problem is what I’ve been talking about since this group was formed. We have a representative from every district _but_ the West Block.”

“Shion, you lived there though, right?”

“Yes, but not even for a year! And I don’t anymore. There’s no way to understand the way of life there without firsthand knowledge. We need someone here, _as an equal_ , to provide that perspective.”

As always, the committee tensed up at the thought. He could see their thoughts in the slight sneers and in the faintest shivers that resounded through the room: to them, the West Block population was dirty, no better than cockroaches that would sneak into their room and lay eggs they’d have to exterminate.

“What would their subcommittee even be?” Mallon asked with a scoff.

“The West Block! There are more than enough issues there alone to warrant a subcommittee.”

“Why don’t you take that on, then? It’s not like your tree hugger committee does much anyways.”

“With all due respect,” the leader of the Communications and Intelligence department interceded with, “the Environment and Ecology department has recently made impressive strides with agriculture in the West Block. Shion’s work has been incredibly effective in that area.”

“Effective? More like a drain! How many times have profitable, life-enriching institutions been turned down because of his infuriating legislation?”

Shion closed his eyes and took a deep breath in. Then out. Each time he did it got a little easier to sit still and not imagine he was breathing fire like those dragons in that fairytale book his mother had read him as a child.

“Everyone? Um, it’s one o’clock,” the timid Domestic Affairs subcommittee head stammered out as he checked his wristband. “Maybe we should take lunch?”

Shion’s protests were lost in the hasty mumbles of agreement and chairs shuffling as the other 12 members hurried their way outside. Only the Communications head even acknowledged him on her way out. “Shion, I agree with you. I really do. It’s just, you’re moving a little fast for these old hoots, you know? I’m sure we’ll get a representative, if only just a temp one, soon. If you’re interested, after the meeting I’m going to be attempting to analyze the soundfeed I picked up from No. 2 last week. You can come if you’d like.”

“Thanks, maybe another time. I’ve got a thing. Definitely sometime this week though.”

“Alright then, I’ll hold you to that.” Maricel patted his shoulder walked out, leaving Shion alone at the large, empty, rectangular table.

Shion closed his eyes and let himself imagine. In his mind, the lingering feeling on his shoulder had come from someone else’s hand, the same hands that delicately pried his fists open. In the seat next to him was a boy leaning back, muddy boots propped up on the table. Shion let his arm dangle from the armrest like deadweight and imagined long but calloused fingers intertwining with his.

There was nothing there when he opened his eyes. There never was.

* * *

 

The moon bathed the world in silver, and light dripped from the stars. There was no breeze, and for once the world felt perfectly still. The only movement Shion could see was the gray ash from a distant woman’s cigarette floating up to mingle with the starlight.

His wristband said it was 3:12. The elimination of the strict 11:00 curfew had been Shion’s idea, but the sudden abundance of nightclubs and bars was not. The city was now livelier at night and a little more hungover in the morning. Here, though, in the small, dinky playground built in the corner of Lost Town, Shion was the liveliest thing in sight.

He kicked his legs lazily, listening to the creaks in the swingset as he rose and fell. The playground in Chronos that his mother used to take him to never creaked. That swingset was probably a self-oiling one, now that he thought about it. The ground it had been built on was cushioned, disguised by a thin layer of sand, but still artificially soft in case any children fell or jumped, as children tended to do. If Shion were to jump from these swings, he was pretty sure the ground would not be as forgiving.

Had anyone asked, Shion didn’t think he’d be able to explain why he was out there. He hadn’t woken up and been unable to fall back asleep, in truth, he hadn’t gone to bed yet at all. There’d been too many emails to compose to far too many people for him to be able to relax. Too many books to read from the stack at the foot of his bed. When his brain had finally stopped recognizing words as more than arbitrary lines of ink on paper, he’d come out here to do something. Stargaze, maybe. Get some fresh air. Anything but sleep.

He stopped kicking and let the swing come slowly, dejectedly to a stop. Sighing, he shut his eyes and tilted his head to lean against the rusty chain. He wished he could just sleep there, under the stars that created childlike drawings in the sky. Unfortunately, his mom would probably kill him if he did. He reluctantly opened his eyes and stretched his limbs to get them ready for the uphill walk he had ahead of him.

And then, there on the swing next to him, was a little yellow bee.

Shion looked at it quizzically. “Are you going to stop following me soon? I have half a mind to squash you.” The bee rose up to eye level, prompting the oddest staredown Shion had ever been a part of. “Just kidding,” he chuckled. After circling around his head once, the insect flew to a spot a few yards away and continued hovering in circles.

Shion stood and walked towards it. Getting stung was the least of his concerns when he saw bees. He couldn’t help but associate them with rotting flesh, bulging skin, and lifeless eyes. His palms sweat as the bee continued moving, and in his stomach he could have sworn there was a hive of bees picking him apart.

“Do you want me to follow you?”

The bee didn’t respond. If it did, Shion wasn’t sure he’d be able to figure out the bee equivalent of “yes.” Shion, regardless, followed the bee’s lead down a sidewalk, into a street he recognized as being a few blocks south of his home and then down the road. “Where are you taking me?” He breathed, hardly audible, as he knew his words would fall only on antennae.

As the bee continued in what Shion guessed was an eager fashion, he tried to keep pace. In the back of his mind he was aware that he was probably just following a bee around town for no reason, but he kept going. As each possibility swam into his head, he drowned them before they could take shape. To give his hopes a chance was to inevitably add to the pile of ones that had already died.

Yet as the bee sped up, Shion found himself running, passing under streetlights one by one until finally the bee veered off into a dark alleyway and Shion approached it with hesitation. Only the light of the moon and the sound of buzzing were there to guide him as he climbed the three-story fire escape of a brick apartment building. He took his steps carefully, hearting thumping in time to the bee’s hum, fingers white in the moonlight as they gripped the railing. As Shion took a deep breath in and stepped onto the flat brick roof, the bee flew off into the night. While the buzzing was finally gone, all Shion could hear was his heart beating in his ears and his breath flying off with the bee.

On the edge of the roof perched a dim shadow of a figure, but Shion knew who it was. Shion was frozen. His mind was trying to tell his legs to _run_ , _catch him and never let him go_ , but it was like the sight in front of him had torn apart his nerves and he’d lost the instruction manual for piecing them back together. Shion couldn’t tell whether when the figure turned its head he whipped it around or twisted slowly, because to Shion, time had simply fallen off this roof to its death.

“Shion?”

Time came rushing back in a wave that pushed Shion forward. Nezumi was lucky he was quick and able to jump back from the edge before Shion collided into him. Shion felt hands in his hair, on his back, gripping his arms as he pressed his fingers into the leather on Nezumi’s back, only to find it was too much _not Nezumi_ , and slid his hands up under Nezumi’s jacket and flimsy shirt so he could dig his nails into skin instead. Shion heard a startled inhale and then looked up, meeting gray eyes that he’d seen almost every night in his dreams and nightmares for the past three years.

“Shion, what are you doing here? How did you – “

“I don’t know, there was a bee, I don’t know – “

Nezumi had his hands cupping Shion’s face, Shion was drawing blood from his back, and their faces were close enough that Shion could smell pine and mint and fires burning near a sea. Shion swore he could taste it, the salt of the waters Nezumi no doubt had been to, but then when Nezumi brushed a finger under Shion’s eye he realized it was the tears he hadn’t even noticed were falling.

“Stop, god, no, please don’t – “ Nezumi rested his chin on Shion’s head, tucking Shion’s crying face into his collarbone. Shion wanted to be engulfed; he wanted to crawl into Nezumi’s skin and anchor him there for the rest of eternity. Three drops fell on the back of Shion’s head and neck, cold and foreign. “Stop it, you idiot, you’re making me cry too.”

Shion exhaled quickly three times, the closest thing to a laugh he could manage. “Serves you right.” He wrapped his arms around Nezumi’s waist, hands still buried between his skin and clothes. He was skinnier, muscles still very much there but in general there was just less of him. Shion pulled back to look up at Nezumi’s wide eyes, hands recoiling from Nezumi’s waist to his arms. “No, wait, quick, tell me! Why are you up here?”

“What?”

“This doesn’t make sense!” Shion squeezed Nezumi’s forearms and they felt real, there were muscles and sinews and blood under his fingers, but he’d thought that before only to have woken up and found it had been nothing more than his pillow and sheets. “Why are you up here?”

“I – “ Nezumi glanced away. “I was trying to think of how to meet you. Planning my show, you know? Theatrics and music and backup dancers. Nothing less for you.” Shion huffed and stepped on Nezumi’s boot, making him hiss in pain. “Ow, ow, okay, okay. Kidding. I really just didn’t know how to go about this. How you’d react.”

Shion tilted his head and looked into Nezumi’s bloodshot eyes, aware of how nightmarish his own already red eyes could look after crying. “Nezumi, were you… afraid?”

“No, shut the hell up.” Nezumi sighed. “I didn’t know what I’d do if I showed up at your house and some broad opened the door and said her husband wasn’t home. Or worse, some kid.”

Shion felt Nezumi tense up as he rested the side of his head against his chest. “I’ll tell Mariko you said that, jerk,” he muttered, eyes shut to the world. Shion logically knew that individual heartbeats weren’t distinct, but he was pretty sure he’d be able to recognize this one in a crowd of thousands. “Kidding.” Nezumi at last relaxed his arms, letting them fall around Shion’s waist.

How many times had he imagined this? In every mind-numbing meeting, on every rainy day, he’d dreamed of the window opening and everyone being amazed at the tall, dark stranger stealing Shion away. Or just coming home and finding Nezumi, like he’d been there forever and none of the loneliness Shion felt had ever been real.

Shion hadn’t thought it would hurt. His eyes burned, his heart a hunter afraid to move lest it scare off its target. He didn’t think he’d be fighting to hold back sobs or that he’d feel Nezumi doing the same.

They melted down together, never letting hand stop touching hand, until they were lying on the gravelly cement roof, fingers interlaced and Nezumi’s head resting on Shion’s chest. They lay in silence, but a million questions filled Shion’s head, so many that they all blended together into nothing that made sense. So many things to say, but instead he simply squeezed Nezumi’s hand until he couldn’t tell where his hand began and Nezumi’s ended.

“Shion, stop thinking so much.”

“Huh?”

“Your breathing is rattling my brain.” Shion hadn’t even realized he was practically hyperventilating.

“Sorry,” he laughed, for the first time in what felt like years.

“We’ll talk tomorrow. I’m too tired right now.”

Nezumi turned so his cheek was square with Shion’s heart and their eyes could meet. For the past three years Shion had thought of those eyes every time a storm passed over, but he’d always longed for the clouds to disperse as soon as possible lest his heart begin to ache. This time though, he was happy to get lost in the storm.

To his disappointment, Nezumi soon shut his eyes. If this was how tired Shion looked each day, he no longer wondered why his mom tried to force him to sleep all the time. As Shion brushed the hair from Nezumi’s face, Nezumi drew their tangled fingers up to his lips and planted a light kiss on Shion’s pale hand. “Goodnight, then.”

“Nezumi! We can’t just sleep here.”

“Why not? We won’t get caught.”

“We’ll catch cold, or fall off the roof, or something. There’d be no way to explain this to the tabloids.”

Nezumi begrudgingly stood, offering Shion a hand up. Together, they made their way down the fire escape, Shion lagging just slightly behind so he could avoid ever having to take his eyes off Nezumi. Every time he opened his eyes after blinking he feared he’d find that Nezumi wasn’t there and never had been.

Shion had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from saying everything he wanted to say as they walked down the empty street. The tears had stopped for the most part, but Shion’s heart still felt as if it was leaking years of pent upenergy. It was all bubbling up at once, all of the emotions he’d shoved down to the point where he could only feel the faintest ripple of them, and then when Nezumi turned around to say something, everything erupted. He raised his arm and punched Nezumi hard in the side of the face.

Nezumi stumbled backwards in the middle of the street, hand clutching his reddened cheek. Bent over, he groaned and peered up at Shion from under his bangs. Shion expected shock, anger, hate, but not the harrowing sadness he saw there in Nezumi’s eyes.

“Sorry,” Shion gasped as he stood over him. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I can’t honestly say I don’t deserve that.”

“You kind of do.” Shion squatted down in front of him, grabbing the hand that wasn’t clinging to the new wound. “I’m sorry, though. Damn it Nezumi, I just can’t believe I did that,” he said as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Really, Shion. I promise it’s fine.” Nezumi wiped at his cheek and looked at it. “See? Didn’t even draw blood.”

“No, Nezumi, that’s not it. I’ve -- I’ve been seeing someone for this. Like, a doctor. This shouldn’t happen anymore.”

“What?”

“You know what I’m talking about! It’s always you, I just can’t control myself around you and please, I just don’t want to lose it again, not after. After what happened in the correctional facility.” He pressed his own palms into his eyes and groaned. “I don’t want anything like that to ever happen again but here I am, throwing punches as soon as you’re back. Whenever you’re around, I just feel everything _so much more_ and I can’t believe I still don’t know how to handle that.”

“Shion.” Nezumi grabbed Shion’s head and pressed it into his chest, turning Shion’s vision to only black. “Stop. I know, okay? It’s all right. You’re a little time bomb and I’m the gunpowder waiting to make you explode.”

“You’re really not helping.”

“Yeah, I’m not so good at this.” He did massage his hand in Shion’s hair though, which at least gave Shion something physical to focus on instead of the mess inside his head. “I hate being this thing that sets you off, and I wish that I could change that, but I know that you’re trying. And I also know that right now, you’re probably extremely tired _and_ I know that you’re an incoherent fool when you haven’t slept, so let’s go home, okay?”

Shion let out a shuddery breath and struggled to regain the composure he’d lost his grip on. He let Nezumi hold him for a minute, under the streetlights that shown down on them like spotlights on a stage.

Shion remembered the way he’d broken just as easily as his window had. How the calendar had marked the day that his solitude would turn one. How unreal it all felt even as he explained it to the doctor in the room that smelled like jasmine. He was the only person Shion had ever confessed to, that he’d killed once and was afraid he could again.

For a while, he was sure that had been the reason Nezumi had left.

“Shion, let’s go.”

“Yeah, okay. Let’s go home.”

They stood together, Nezumi still rubbing his cheek. “You’ve gotten stronger though, I’ll admit.”

“Or you’re just not used to getting slapped in the face anymore.”

“Please, I could go to the bottom of the ocean and the fish would still slap me. I’m universally hateable.”

Shion wasn’t able to hide his surprise when Nezumi reached for his hand, but he was glad for it. He couldn’t tell in the moonlight whether Nezumi’s cheek was bruising or not. Either way, Nezumi didn’t seem to be in pain, which Shion was grateful for as they walked home.

“Okay, my mom is asleep, so please be quiet. Sunday is her busiest day so she’s not going to be happy if we wake her up.”

“Aw, no ‘welcome-home-Nezumi’ surprise party?”

“You’re the one surprising me, though! Ugh, you’ll get your party tomorrow. Cake and party hats galore.” Shion’s speech was astoundingly slurred from fatigue.

“Hoorah.”

Shion pressed a finger to his lips, then made his way as quietly as possible up the stairs as Nezumi trailed behind him. Shion was well used to coming home undetected in the middle of the night, but never before had he been so aware of every noise around him, from the beating of his heart to Nezumi’s light footfalls.

Once safely in the room, he shut the door behind them and turned back to find Nezumi was already sitting on his bed. Shion hung his coat on his bedpost, took off his jeans, and then watched as Nezumi stripped down to just his boxers. “Enjoying the show?” Nezumi asked, and Shion’s face immediately went red.

“Shut up.” Shion climbed into bed and pulled Nezumi down with him, until they were face to face. The bed was only a single, but Shion wasn’t going to offer the couch. In that moment, everything that wasn’t Nezumi felt extremely far away and Shion couldn’t imagine sending him off to something as distant as the couch.

“Please still be here in the morning,” Shion whispered as he laid a hand on Nezumi’s long neck.

“I will be.”

“Don’t let me wake up and see you’re not here. Two times is enough.”

“Okay.” Nezumi was clearly already half-asleep, eyelashes fluttering as he tried to keep them open. He was just out of the moonlight’s reach, instead bathed in darkness.

“I’m scared to go to sleep.” Shion wasn’t sure whether he said it or thought it, as Nezumi didn’t react. “I’m scared I’m going to fall asleep and this is all going to be a dream.”

Nezumi leant forward and placed a firm kiss on Shion’s lips. “It’s not. And if it is, I promise when I actually do show up you can beat the ever-loving shit out of me.”

“Deal.” Finally, Shion was willing to shut his eyes and let the darkness rock him to sleep, legs comfortingly tangled with Nezumi’s. He’d never felt someone else’s heartbeat or felt light, pine-scented breath on his face before in a dream. This time, it was him marveling at the phenomenon of human warmth.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) The title comes from Mumford and Son's Hopeless Wanderer, but the real anthem for writing this was their song Hold On to What You Believe.
> 
> 2) I started this before previews for Elysium even came out (Sorry Matt Damon).
> 
> 3) I can't give an honest estimate as to when the next part will be posted, cause I want to finish the rest of it before I post any more. I'm almost done though.


End file.
